Chapter 20 – Video Killed the Privacy Law

Have you ever felt completely and utterly lost when it comes to fashion? Well, I welcome you into my clueless world. If you'd asked me six months ago if I'd be going insane this fine Monday morning as I tried to figure out what to wear to a breakfast date with Christian Grey, I'd have asked you: Who is Christian Grey? I've always considered myself fairly well read, but now I see I should have been reading the newspapers and gossip magazines, or at the very least listened to Kate ramble away about this type of stuff. Now if someone asked me today who was Christian Grey, my response would be – the man with the best lips ever! That man can kiss. Not that I have that much of a basis for comparison, but still, those lips are amazing. In the words every Seinfeld fan would understand – I'm betting he's sponge-worthy!

Now that I've gone through the bulk of my wardrobe and decided against any of them for my breakfast date with Christian in under an hour, I head toward the guest bedroom to see what sample treasures Mac bestowed upon me as a bribe to model for her. She's a great designer but blind as a bat when it comes to me. She's deluded. Standing before the now open closet in by underwear and short robe, I'm stunned to find ten different fall outfits, all already perfectly combined – dress or skirt/top combination, tights, shoes, and scarves. I have to admit, knowing Mac and her love of tartan prints, I'm surprised to see only one tartan pattern in the entire collection.

I stared into the closet for almost five minutes before picking a short, blue print dress cut to the mid-thigh, black leggings, black blazer, and matching suede ankle boots. It's then that I see a small zippered bag still on the hanger. When I look inside it contains jewelry accessories and even custom hair clips. Mac thought of everything. I know she's already in the air heading toward Scotland, but once I'm dressed I send her a picture and a thank you email for when she lands.

With one last look in the mirror, I grab my purse and keys and head out the door. I love the dock at this time in the morning. Just before seven a.m. it starts coming to life. I have to admit, I like the idea of having Uncle Shrek and his retired Hell's Angel buddies around me. It makes me feel better in case I ever need help.

"Miss Steele," a male voice comes from behind me, causing me to startle as I wait to cross the street.

"Yes," I replied, shocked that I managed to keep a steady voice as I turn around. When I see Jackson, I can't help but sigh in relief. "I apologize Jackson, you startled me. I'm not really used to this entire security thing yet."

Jackson was your typical Christian Grey CPO – tall, built, and good looking. In his case though, he wasn't much older than I was. I had to admit, I felt better with someone older, like Harrison, Taylor, or Luke. This just felt strange.

"Miss Steele, I have orders to drive you to Bubba's this morning," he states firmly.

"But Jackson it's only a few blocks away and it's a beautiful morning. If where I'm heading is close enough to walk, I always walk. Walking places is becoming a lost means of transportation in America, well that and if I'm going to feat on crepes I need to at least attempt to walk them off. Who gave you the orders?"

"Taylor and Sawyer ma'am."

"Did something happen that I need to know about?" I panicked. I know I'm over-reacting. I feel like in the past thirty-six hours all I do is jump to conclusions in my mind.

"Nothing happened ma'am. You need to calm down," Jackson tries to soothe me. "It's just that immediately after breakfast you're due at the Dr. Flynn's office. It's easier to have the car at Bubba's and quickly head out than walk back here first since it's going to rain this morning plus there's new road construction and his office is downtown. It will take a good forty-five minutes to get there with traffic."

I plant myself firmly on a nearby bench, rest my elbows on my knees, and with my head in my hands I try to bring my panicked breathing back to normal. Now I understood why Luke didn't tell me earlier it might not be over. I'd been doing well in terms of anxiety. I wasn't worried about being alone at home. I was still willing to walk places, which really was amazing all things considered, but my over-reaction to the simplest thing like driving to Bubba's leaves me feeling like I'm trying to walk on marbles.

"Are you going to be okay ma'am?"

I nodded as I got to my feet. "You're the boss this morning Jackson. You lead, I follow. All I ask is you don't tell Luke about my over-reaction. I don't want him to worry."

His face shows his hesitation about keeping something from Luke, who is technically his immediate supervisor, but he agrees. Reluctantly I get into the black Audi SUV, though he won't allow me to ride in front. Moments later we are parked in Bubba's lot as another Audi SUV parks next to us. I'll admit to being a bit frustrated by not even allowed to open my own door – Jackson's rules.

How do men appear refreshed after little to no sleep? I mean I have two pounds of concealer under my eyes to hide the dark circles from not enough sleep, yet Taylor looks like he's slept eight hours, when I know he hasn't. "Good morning Taylor."

"Morning Ana," he replies opening the back door of the Audi for Christian.

As I watch him emerge from the vehicle, I can't help but admire the way he's always put together – suit perfectly fitted, today's color is charcoal grey, crisp white shirt, lighter grey tie, and perfectly polished black shoes. This is the person Mac should get to model her upcoming men's collection. He's perfect.

"Good morning Anastasia," he greets me with a kiss on the cheek. "Enjoying the view?"

My cheeks feel warm. Yup, I'm blushing, no surprise there. "Actually I was just wondering how you and Taylor look so good this morning after the late night last night. I just want to crawl back into bed and pull the blanket over my head."

"So you're checking out Taylor, huh?" he asks taking my chin in his hand and bringing my gaze toward his. I can see the mirth in his eyes.

"Well Mr. Grey, you surround me by eye-candy in two thousand dollar suits and even I, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes can't resist checking out their goods," I retort with a smirk. "For Christmas I want my own calendar of your security team, preferably in tight jeans and no shirts or maybe just in boxer briefs since they all wear them."

His grey eyes darken and I can feel the tension begin to radiate from him. He almost looks like he's getting ready to sulk. I can't resist grabbing his grey tie and pulling him down toward me. When I rest my forehead against his I do my best to give him my most innocent smile, sigh, and add, "oh Mr. Grey, you are so adorable when you get all pouty. Now I can understand why you told me you wanted to bite my lip at the hotel. God, you're fricking hot when you are brooding."

His laughter shocked me for an instant, then I joined in. "Getting bold Anastasia or is this another of your brain to mouth filter issues?" I shrug as he leads me into Bubba's with Taylor a few steps behind us. "Well Miss Steele, you're lucky were are eating breakfast here because right now I want nothing more than to push you against a wall and put better use to that smart mouth of yours."

A nervous giggle escapes me. I can't help it. The things I feel around this man are so foreign to me – alarming, yet sensual. I, Anastasia Rose Steele, hereby volunteer to be the U.S. Ambassador to Christian Grey.

"By the look on your face and your bodies reaction I beginning to think you wouldn't mind that," he whispers in my ear as we sit at our table.

All I can do is stare into his eyes as we sit across from each other. It almost feels like the air between us is crackling with raw energy. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, if he touches me in any way right now I'll slide off the chair and onto the floor.

"Breathe, Anastasia," he chuckles "just breathe."

I'm grateful for the servers interruption as she takes our orders – tea and a breakfast crepe with a side of hash browns for me, and for Christian a large coffee and an order of the Cajun crepes, extra Andouille sausage plus hash browns. Little does he know I plan on snatching a piece of his Andouille.

"You look beautiful this morning," he murmurs. "Is that one of Mac's designs?"

"Thank you, it is."

"Now I can understand why she wants you to model for her. That outfit is perfect for you. She should design all of your clothes, though I will admit, I don't want you to model for her. I want to keep you for myself. Is it wrong that I don't want to share you with the world?"

"How can you say you don't do hearts and flowers when your words just turn me to mush?" I sigh in frustration. "The way you make me feel has flipped everything upside down and I'm trying to find my footing. It's like standing in the best quick sand ever. I haven't been in a relationship before so I have no point of reference, so right now I feel lost, afraid, and at the same time there isn't any place else I'd rather be. All this and I don't even know what to call whatever this is between us."

Holy shit! Way to lay yourself out emotionally on the table Steele. I risk a glance up at Christian. He looks stunned, yet oddly smug and satisfied.

"If I told you I didn't understand how you were feeling, I'd be a liar. This is a first for me too Anastasia," he whispers almost nervously. "What do you fear the most?"

I shuffle nervously in my seat for a moment. "The unknown."

"Do you mean sex?" he asks and I blush profusely on cue. He can't help but laugh. "Trust me baby, when we get there, we're going to be great together. I understand that it is one of our concerns."

'No … well, probably in some ways yes, but what I meant was the unknown about you," I whisper before moving my face closer to his and whispering. "This isn't the place to have this conversation, I know that, but you're this bigger than life person and I'm well, a rural girl from Montesano. You have private security, women stalking you and anyone related to you, issues from your first four years of life, and a sexual history – it's all overwhelming. I'm hoping one day you will feel comfortable enough with me to share your experiences and feelings."

There's no missing he's nervous. He shifts in his chair before running his fingers through his hair. "So you're telling me you have no past secrets from me? That you've shared everything."

I smile at him. "I have one secret from you. It has absolutely nothing to do with my upbringing, my issues, or my lack of a dating history. Other than this one item, you know all the key events that turned me into the screwed up person I am today. You know more than my own father does. The only reason I don't share this item with you is because you are a recovering, self-admitted, control freak and I don't want you to be tempted to interfere. Can you say the same in terms of secrets you are keeping from me other than work related ones which are expected?"

"I can't," he replies sadly glancing down at his coffee. "My life has been complicated and according to Flynn I don't share well with others."

"Do you know why I hand wrote you a letter and told you my story?" I ask him with a gentle smile. He shakes his head negatively. "I did it because it was liberating to tell someone and while I didn't sign your NDA, I trusted you enough to hand you my deepest darkest secrets and leave myself vulnerable, which is how I imagine you feel with me not having signed your NDA. I'm still dealing with the fall-out from it all and barely keeping my head above water. I know you are in a similar position based on our time with the good doctor, but I want you to know that you don't have to be alone through it all. If you keep carrying it around on your back, eventually your back is going to crumble from the weight of it all. I don't want to see you hurting. You're a good man. If at any point in time you want me to sign the NDA, I will sign it without hesitation. I don't want an unsigned document to prevent us from exploring whatever this is."

That vulnerability is back in his eyes for an instant, before his impassive look returns. "I do have one question for you Christian. It's an important one and I expect an honest answer." I pause for effect. He's looking at me uncertainly. "What's your favorite color?"

He let's out a nervous laugh as the server brings our breakfast. "Blue, like your eyes. And yours?"

"It used to be purple, but lately grey has become significantly more appealing," I counter. "Let's call this stupid question Monday – I want to know the following: your favorite sport, your guilty pleasures when it comes to food, and also, the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to you."

Suddenly he looks ten years younger as his earlier tension melted away. "I love baseball, followed by American football, followed by soccer. My guilty pleasure when it comes to food is between chocolate cake and warm walnut brownies covered in vanilla ice cream and hot fudge, and the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to me, well naturally it comes courtesy of Elliot. When he was a senior in high school I was a freshman. He cherry bombed the bathroom but didn't warn me. Let's just say I got caught in the mayhem and ended up suspended from school for two weeks because I took the blame. Your turn to answer now Anastasia."

"I love soccer. I get that from Ray and the early mornings every Saturday and Sunday watching the EPL and Spanish Premier League on the satellite dish. I'm a hardcore Sounders fan. The guilty pleasure is easy – squirting whipped cream directly from the can into my mouth. I have had so many embarrassing things happen to me that it's tough to pick one. I fell into a toilet and broke my ankle during my freshman year in college. I also thought Exlax was chocolate and baked it into brownies that Ray devoured when I was eight. Mom had to take him to the ER he was so sick. I was kicked out of Organic Chemistry lab in high school because I almost blew it up when I overheated the di-nitro toluene thereby making it tri-nitro toluene or TNT. The list is endless."

For the next hour we laughed, asked each other stupid questions, discussed boats, fishing, television shows we watched growing up, and music. "Where's your next stop of the day?" he asks as we head out of the restaurant hand-in-hand. There is nothing better than feeling his fingers between mine as he holds my hand tightly.

"Flynn at nine, followed by group until half past noon. After that I volunteer at the food bank today as a large shipment is coming in and they need help sorting it, then I run home, change and head to the hardware store."

"Taylor, we're dropping Anastasia off at Flynn's for her nine o'clock. Jackson, while she's at her appointment, you can have Harrison relieve you and he can head to Flynn's to pick her up," Christian orders, before pulling me close and whispering in my ear, "this way I get to spend a little more time with you."

All I can do is nod at him before he kissed me gently and caressed my cheek. God, I adore this man. We get into the back of the SUV and as Taylor pulls out of the parking lot, Christian asks me why I'm still working at the hardware store when Sawyer has griped about my freelance editing taking up more than forty hours per week and that I was exhausted.

"First, Luke needs to keep his mouth shut," I mutter trying to keep the aggravation I'm feeling out of my voice. "Second, working at the hardware store is purely to stabilize my income stream. It's a regular paycheck, while the freelance editing can be sporadic. Right now, I'm busy editing, but what happens if it slows down and that income decreases dramatically or goes away altogether? I don't want to rely on anyone else. It's bad enough Luke and Bubba think I don't know that the houseboat I'm living on would normally rent for three thousand plus dollars per month, but I'm only paying two thousand. It annoys me to all hell that I'm getting a deal. I don't want to be anyone's charity case. I want to stand on my own two feet. Ray basically forced me to take the deal or he was going to, as he puts it, drive his ass up here, pack my crap up and drag me back to Montesano. I've never lived alone before. The first night was okay, but since I found out this entire mess might not be over I'd be lying if I said I wasn't jumpy."

"I know," Christian replied. "Jax informed Taylor about your panic attack this morning, who in turn told me."

"But he promised not to tell," I sighed in frustration.

"From what I understand, he promised not to tell Sawyer."

"Dammit!" I swore in defeat. "I knew if I accepted your CPOs that I wouldn't have privacy, but what else have they reported?"

I can see Taylor and Christian exchange a knowing glance before Christian finally answered. "You barely sleep at night, rather you spend a great deal of time on your computer editing. While you cook up a storm, at most you eat one meal per day and have a snack once per day. You compulsively check the locks on all the doors and windows multiple times before you finally go to sleep. I know you are aware that I've had CPOs watching over you since you came back to Seattle. This pattern of behavior has been going on for months regardless of your living with Kate or on your own, though according to Harrison, you're edgier on your own than you were in the condo. Frankly, we've all been worried about you."

"Trust me when I say, I'll be fine. I'm working through the angry, fearful, dysfunctional mess that's in my head. Unfortunately, when I'm stressed it has historically manifested itself in lack of sleep, either limited or excessive food intake, or just pure isolation until I can work through it," I inform him sadly. "I don't want anyone to worry about me. I'm never going to harm myself or do anything stupid – hell, if I didn't after Texas then there isn't any chance of that happening now. All I want to do get a handle on my issues and resolve them; and as you know all too well, sometimes that's just not easy."

"I know." He unbuckles my seatbelt and pulls me onto his lap. I can't help but stare into his concerned grey eyes. One of his hands is holding me in place on my hip, while the other is caressing my cheek. "I can't help but worry because I'm not in control of the situation."

I can't help but laugh. "You're too funny Christian – a control freak until the end. If I allowed you to control my life, I'd be working at SIP, a company that will go bankrupt in under four months unless you bought it, which knowing you, you probably would. I'd be living, dressing, eating, and exercising exactly how you wanted, but I ask you this – where would the real Anastasia be?"

At least he had to decency to look sheepish. "Buried underneath my control, slowly suffocating to death."

"When you started to build your dream, GEH, did you do it all on your own or did you have help?" I couldn't help but ask.

"My parents were angry at me for dropping out of Harvard, so they wouldn't help me or provide access to my trust fund. A friend lent me one hundred thousand dollars seed money to get going. I paid them back within two years," he explained. "It was rough those first few months, but it quickly got better. I don't want to see you struggle like I did originally."

"Struggle build character or so they say anyway. I like you and I want to explore this connection between us, but you need to understand, I'm insecure and in some ways fragile. Spending time with you brings unwanted attention from the media, and with that attention – criticism. I don't want to be labeled a gold-digger or Christian Grey's charity case. I may not keep up to date on the gossip, but I've seen enough to know that if I get heavily badgered with one or both of those labels, it will eat away at me because I'll always wonder if in some ways it's true. Do you know what I mean?"

He nodded, but before he could say anything, I continued. "I came back to Seattle knowing that I had to build something and not allow you to help me. I don't want to owe you anything, but I already feel like I owe you too much between the computer and the furniture. I might be small and for the most part meek, but I'm a prideful imp. If what this is between us ends up being a full-fledged relationship at some point, I want to know that if the worst happens, I walk away and can stand on my own two feet without you subsidizing it. I don't care who I marry one day, but I'm demanding a pre-nup that states I came into the marriage with X, and leaving the marriage with my same X. It goes both ways. The only thing that will need to be arranged one day is child support and visitation. Though if I'm honest, my goal is to marry once and do it right. I will not become my mother moving from one man to the next for money."

"So you won't allow me to buy you a car to replace your Wanda?" he asks.

I can't help but roll my eyes at him before being blunt. "I don't want you to spend money on me. I don't want a big fancy car or house. I don't give a damned about jewelry or high-end designer clothes. Let me make this abundantly clear – gold is a precious resource that we are wasting on jewelry. One day as a society, we'll regret it. It will be a cold day in hell before I wear gold, jewels, or stuff like that. It's a frivolous, wasteful expenditure of funds that can help others. I'm a simple person Christian. I want to buy my own car and I prefer to buy my own clothes. Just so you know, while I love the clothes Mac left in my closet, it leaves me feeling obligated to do the stupid photo shoot, so in the end I probably will – which sucks because ordinarily there is no way in hell I'd even consider it. I value my privacy more than just about anything else. I want nothing to do with your money. Your wealth intimidates me. I don't want to live in a tower in the sky. All I want is normal – a small house, two-point-five kids one day in the distant future, anonymity, and a partner that loves and respects me even with my flaws."

He looks completely and utterly lost. I can't help but smile with embarrassment. "I know I'm twenty one and living in a fantasy land, but for my own piece of mind, I need to establish myself in a career without anyone's assistance. To me, this is the single biggest step to prove to myself that I'm not like my mother. This is the one thing that is not open to negotiation in my life. If I find out you even try to intervene, I won't talk to you ever again. I tell Luke and my father the same thing ever time they badger me about what I'm doing with my life.

"But we need to make sure you are okay," he counters running his fingers through his hair. "You can't walk around with under five-hundred dollars in your bank account and say you are okay. That's why I originally placed the fifty-thousand dollars in there, but you had to be stubborn and give it back."

Gently I place one hand on each side of his face and bring his frazzled gaze to mine. "Would it make you feel better to know my current bank balance? I can assure you that I've been working hard and have managed to save a few dollars over the past three and a half months."

He just stares into my eyes as I hand him my phone. "Click on the bank app Mr. Grey. The password is Zx23L10! and tell me what the balance is in each of my accounts."

"Your checking account balance is $8,932.21; savings $28,231.99; certificates of deposits totaling $30,000; and credit card balance of $221.87 with an available credit card balance of $4,778.13. How did you make this much money?" I can see the shock on his face.

"Freelance editing. Luke's right, I could probably ditch the hardware store, but for me it's a safety net. I started editing after I was discharged from the hospital the last time. So far I've done decently. For a twenty-one year old fresh out of college, earning fifty-five dollars per hour editing has been a good thing. I know compared to your financial position, my funds are nothing, but this is more money than I've ever had in my life."

He finally admits he's impressed and a little less worried about me, though he wishes I would cut back my hours at the hardware store so we had more time together. Reluctantly I agreed as relationships, or whatever we're calling this attraction between us, are about compromise. Who the heck am I trying to kid I just want to spend more time with him.

As we pull up outside of Flynn's office I can't help but smile at him. I love the fact that I'm still sitting in his lap with his arm around my waist. "It might take some time for the hardware store to back fill the hours I'm giving up so I need you to be patient and don't take it personally. More than anything, I want to spend time getting to know you without the glare of the media on us, so I hope you are ready to spend time putting up with my home cooked meals and not in fancy restaurants or clubs. Direct enough for you Mr. Grey?" I couldn't help but smirk as I realized I'm beginning to feel more secure with whatever this relationship is slowly becoming.

"Send Flynn my regards," he states before kissing me deeply as he pulls my body against his. When the kiss ends, I can't help but giggle and ask, "So you want me to pass that greeting onto Flynn? I've never kissed a man with a moustache before."

Before he can respond, I open the door, bid both of them good-bye and run into Flynn's office. Little did I know that by the time my hour with the good doctor was over, my life would be even more off-kilter than it was before.

I watch as Ana enters Dr. Flynn's office and check that Harrison is now in the SUV parked nearby. I feel better with Harrison watching over Ana than Jackson. Luke's right, he's too young to watch over her. The ages are too close and Jax has made it obvious to both Luke and a few other CPOs that he thinks Ana is hot. I know if the boss finds out and we haven't done something to remedy the situation it's my head on a platter. Sometimes being head of personal security sucks. I should have listened to Luke yesterday and shifted Harrison to nights and let Luke take the day shift with her.

As we're stuck in traffic heading to Grey House, my phone rings. "Taylor" I answer.

"Hey T, it's Barney. We have a problem," he informs us. Grey leans forward as he listens to the conversation as Barney continues. "Apparently someone outside of Bubba's shot a video of Mr. Grey and his companion leaving. They sold it to Seattle Nooz and they are running with it as a breaking story."

"Fuck!" the boss mutters from the back seat. "Have they identified Anastasia as the person in the picture?"

"Not yet. I've just sent the link to both of you and Sawyer with the short article and pictures, but my guess is they are going to figure out sooner rather than later as that viral video of Ms. Steele's from months ago immediately began trending as did her Kavanagh Media interview once the story broke. Also in the video both you and Miss Steele are discussing her schedule for the day, so they are going to know where to find her."

"Thanks Barney," Taylor states ending the call. He pulls the SUV over and we watch the video together. Barney's right, they'll know within the next half-hour of Ana's identity. There are at least two clear shots of her face in the video, along with her entire schedule for today.

SEATTLE NOOZ

BREAKING NEWS

Rumors of Seattle's hottest male being taken off the singles market were confirmed this morning as billionaire Christian Grey was spotted leaving Bubba's Crepes early this morning hand-in-hand with a yet to be identified brunette. According to regular diners at the establishment, they were seen whispering to each other and laughing over breakfast not only this morning, but also one morning last week as well.

Single ladies of Seattle wear black today as the video below shows that the mighty bachelor has fallen. Grey holding hands with the brunette taken from behind but there is no doubt of the man's identity as Grey, since standing near him is known Grey Head of Personal Security, Jason Taylor. Weep Ladies! Weep!

So Seattle, let the search for the identity of the lucky lady begin!

"Fuck," the boss and I mutter at the same time. After overhearing Ana talk about wanting to basically be invisible and out of the spotlight, the actions of one asshole with a camera phone take that away from her. In a matter of minutes Anastasia Steele will be front-page news and the speculation and innuendo that she's trying to avoid will begin in earnest. Glancing back at the boss all I see is an angry, frustrated little kid who's wondering when his new favorite toy is going to be ripped away.

"Taylor" Grey states with a sudden smirk. "Have Welch run a background check of every asshole that works at the Seattle Nooz. I also want to find out who shot and leaked the video."

I couldn't help but smile. I fucking hate most reporters and the paparazzi in general.